


Cover Me

by hockeysockey13



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Team Bond, Boston Bruins, Competence Kink, Daddy Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Older Man/Younger Man, Psychic Bond, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Timeline What Timeline, hockeysexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22788784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hockeysockey13/pseuds/hockeysockey13
Summary: Charlie doesn’t jerk off after every game. Or even after most of them, not since the Bruins called him up from Providence. It’s a little awkward when your go-to fantasy is one of the best players in the game, but there’s no way Charlie’s the only one with that particular problem. Jacking it to a teammate, though? That’s a different line, and so far Charlie hasn’t crossed it.Tonight is different.
Relationships: Zdeno Chara/Charlie McAvoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 100
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Cover Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maeve_of_Winter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/gifts).

> Maeve, I read your letter and was so inspired by your likes and tropes and prompts. We like so many of the same things! And so I wrote this story for you, and learned that I can't, apparently, actually write many of the things we both love to read. Hopefully this story glances obliquely off enough of them. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Fair warning, if you get second-hand embarrassment really bad, this fic will probably give you that.
> 
> Many thanks to Temperist for taking the time to beta this with a sharp eye!

The team bond is buzzing after the game, high on their win over the Habs and a half a dozen small fights that broke out during the sixty minutes. The guys are shouting in one corner of the locker room, chattering in another, pushing each other next to the logo in the center. It’s a mess, but it’s happy, and the bond feels so warm in the back of Charlie’s head.

He’s careful to keep the bond at a safe distance as he takes off his pads and heads for the showers. He loves to hear the echoes of his teammates discussing the game, making plans to go out, even if most of the words aren’t audible unless he concentrates. But he doesn’t want anyone to pick up on the kind of thoughts he’s having tonight.

Green-grey eyes come to mind, and Charlie pushes them away, focusing on washing his hair clinically.

_ ‘You coming out?’ _ Jake pushes at him. _ ‘Gryz says there’s a new club in Southie we should check out.’ _

_ ‘Naw, I want to go to sleep,’ _ Charlie answers.

He feels a flicker of concern. Jake is remembering the dirty check Charlie took earlier, wondering about concussion protocols. _ ‘You okay? For real?’ _

_ ‘I’m good,’ _ he promises. _ ‘Just tired. You go have a good time.’ _

He gets a surge of renewed enthusiasm in response.

Charlie takes a deep, calming breath and pulls himself even further away from the bond, enough that the guys will know he wants privacy. He finishes up in the shower and hurries through collecting his things to leave. Most of the guys are taking their time changing, joking around. Charlie takes a last look around the room as he heads for the door and catches a glimpse of the huge expanse of Chara’s muscular back. He flushes and speeds up his steps.

He doesn’t need any more material for tonight.  
  


Charlie doesn’t jerk off after every game. Or even after most of them, not since the Bruins called him up from Providence. It’s a little awkward when your go-to fantasy is one of the best players in the game, but there’s no way Charlie’s the only one with that particular problem. Jacking it to a teammate, though? That’s a different line, and so far Charlie hasn’t crossed it.

Tonight is different.

Tonight, Charlie watched from the blue line while his captain slid a sniper shot through three opposing players and two teammates to the back of the net. He got crushed into Chara’s chest after a pass from his stick gave Chara a beautiful power play goal. And his blood has been on fire since he caught that crosscheck into the boards and Chara had stood over him like a lion protecting its cub.

Charlie’s so turned on he only makes it home through muscle memory.

He abandons his gear bag and jacket just inside his apartment door, tosses his shoes in front of the couch. Charlie strips out of his shirt and tie on the way to his bedroom and drops them next to the door when he closes it behind him. His hands shake when he opens his closet door and takes down the cardboard moving box tucked way in the back of the top shelf.

He puts it on the dresser to open. It’s been long enough that he almost forgets what’s inside, but luckily he’d stocked up on little lube packets sometime in the past, and his butt plug is waiting for him, trusty as ever. 

He preps the room quickly, distracted enough to forget things and have to double back. A towel over the sheets, his laptop on the spare pillow. Out to the kitchen to grab a water bottle, the cool air on his bare chest tightening his nipples in a way that drives the anticipation up further. Spare lube by the bed, tissue box on the nightstand. 

Lastly, and most importantly, Charlie pulls the psionic blocker out of the nightstand drawer. The team’s pretty good about not being disruptive at night, and for the most part they live far enough away that the bond is nothing more than background noise in Charlie’s head when he’s at home. But sometimes the boys are partying, or someone’s having a loud evening, and the little white box is a necessity to fall asleep.

Charlie pokes the touch screen anxiously, straining to keep the bond away from the thoughts that are about to be released. He cues up the blocker for incoming psionic waves, turns it on, then cues up the blocker for outgoing waves. He doesn’t want anyone bothering him in the middle of his plans, and he definitely doesn’t want anyone to hear him. The blocker is good for a thirty-foot radius, a little bubble of mental quiet. As long as he stays in his bedroom, he’ll be safe.

The relief of finally being able to stop pushing away the bond has Charlie closing his eyes with a sigh as he puts the blocker down on the nightstand. His hands are shaking with arousal as he rips off his pants and underwear and throws them somewhere on the other side of the room. Charlie tears open a packet of lube, smearing it over the plug. Is it enough? He’s never had a problem taking the plug before, but he hasn’t stretched himself this time, and knows he won’t have the patience to. He hesitates for a second, but it doesn’t even matter. He’s not going to wait another minute.

Charlie kneels up on his bed, over the towel in case of dripping lube, and grips the plug by the base. He starts to push it in.

Slicked and smooth, it doesn’t feel like anything for a moment, nothing more than pressure and the knowledge of what he’s doing to himself and why. He pushes further, and it feels good, oh god it starts to feel good. Charlie widens his knees, lowers down so the base of the plug is on the bed, and goes deeper.

He gasps, not knowing why, and feels a sharp pain a moment later as the pain reaches him. The fingers of one hand clench in the bedsheets and he scrabbles at the plug with the other. As slick as it was, the plug slipped all the way in, and it hurts. Charlie breathes through it, shifting his weight to encourage the muscles to loosen. It’ll pass, he knows, but for a moment it makes him grit his teeth, a more intimate pain than anything he’s felt on the ice.

Charlie winces as he settles back on the pillows as the plug forces unprepared muscles to give around it. When he sits, reclined on his hips and lower back rather than his ass, the twinge makes him gasp again.

And then he remembers the next step and a renewed urge of arousal washes away the pain. He wraps his hand around his limp cock for a few strokes, encouraging it to recover from the pain of inserting the plug. It doesn’t work much, but that’s not important. He’ll get there before long.

His laptop wakes up and YouTube is open to the game highlights a moment later. Charlie mutes the laptop: he doesn’t need to hear the commentary, he just needs to see—

That shot from the top of the circle, the video going into slow motion to track the puck’s path through tiny pockets of space between players, inches over Price’s rising glove.

Charlie clenches around the plug as Chara cellies on-screen. The sharp lines of his face softened by a smile, those long arms wide as he welcomes Brad, Bergy, and Krech into his huddle. 

The scene changes to different two angles on Charlie’s assist, a blind pass that lands exactly on Chara’s tape because Charlie knew exactly where he was going to be. It gets buried in the net shortside off a quick flip of Chara’s wrist, and they hit the boards together. 

Charlie moans out loud and realizes his hand is around his cock, already hot and swollen again. He hits pause and grabs the packet from the nightstand, slicking up his hand and warming the lube for a quick second before closing his hand around his dick again with a whimper. It takes him two tries with his shaking left hand to hit play.

And then, the best part. Charlie watches as Max Domi checks him into the boards from behind, his head bouncing off the dasher, and players swarm the zone. Chara gets there first, hauling Domi away from Charlie and more or less throwing him down onto the ice.

A harsh sob comes out of Charlie’s throat as he works his dick faster, his hand closing tight over the throbbing head. On-screen Chara is standing between Charlie and the crowd of swinging hockey players, protecting him as he gets up off his knees with the help of the boards. When the scrum moves down the ice a safe distance, Chara skates around in front of Charlie, puts a glove on his shoulder and bends down, his head dipping so far, to look Charlie in the eyes.

_"How do you feel, kid?” _ Charlie hears, Chara’s low, rumbling voice burned into his memory.

And then he’s coming, his cock spitting up come over his flying fist, his internal muscles clenching hard around the plug. It feels like it goes on forever while Charlie screws his eyes shut, locked into the memory of Chara’s bright green-grey, concerned gaze.

He manages to toss the laptop to the side before it falls. His whole body is shuddering, sweating, twitching with aftershocks. But as he blinks open his eyes, coming back to reality, he knows it’s just the start.

Charlie climbs up onto his knees and takes the plug out, moaning at the sensation. The twitchiness from earlier is gone, but the deep want, the heat that he felt when he saw Domi go flying, hasn’t been extinguished. 

He wipes himself and the plug down with tissues and throws them in the direction of the wastebasket, already moving forward mentally. The plug gets another coating of lube and Charlie rearranges the bed. The laptop is closed and tossed aside in a hurry, his spare pillow placed under his hips as he falls onto his back on the bed.

_ “How’s your head? And don’t try to be a big man,” _ Chara had said when Charlie came back from the trainers. He’d leaned into Charlie’s space to talk over the noise from the crowd. A few drops of Gatorade had flown from his mouth to land on Charlie’s jersey when he spoke, and it shouldn’t have made Charlie hot, but the breathy sigh he gives at the memory and the way his hand grips tighter around the base of the plug betray just how pathetically head-over-heels he is for his captain.

Charlie eases the plug back inside him. He’s stretched enough for it now and it goes in easily, a single easy push and then that feeling of fullness. It makes it easy to make the transition from memory to fantasy.

_ “Did he hurt you, baby boy?” _ Chara asks in Charlie’s mind. His long fingers card through Charlie’s hair, their gentleness a sharp contrast to the heavy pressure of his cock inside Charlie, stretching him to his limits.

“No,” Charlie whispers. “You stopped him. You protected me.”

_ “Of course I protected you,” _ Chara tells him. His hips move, slow and powerful, his thick thighs forcing Charlie’s legs open to make room for him. Charlie squirms, whines. _ “You’re mine, baby boy. I keep you safe, always.” _

“Yes, daddy, you keep me safe, you make me feel good,” Charlie whimpers. The plug is awkward to thrust with, and Charlie regrets again that he still hasn’t ordered a proper dildo, but he clenches down at the stretch of the wide bulb and the tease of the tapering tip, imagining that he’s working hard to squeeze around Chara, around his daddy. “Please, I need you.”

Charlie touches that amazing chest, strokes the soft skin over Chara’s washboard abs. He cries out as Chara lowers his huge, hard body over Charlie’s, weighing him down into the bed, his stomach pressing Charlie’s cock between them as he keeps moving his hips in perfect rhythm. 

_ “I’ve got you, baby,” _ Chara says into his ear. He’s so tall, he blankets Charlie entirely, the heat of him almost stifling. Charlie has never felt so safe as when he pictures Chara above him, inside him, his hot breath on Charlie’s face, his thrusts starting to get faster and more forceful.

It’s too soon, but Charlie can feel the beginnings of his orgasm starting to spark as he squeezes his cock, like even this fantasy Chara is powerful enough to get him there.

Chara kisses him, hard and deep, and Charlie cries out helplessly, imagining the taste and the feel of the tongue in his mouth and the stubble tearing at his lips and cheeks.

_ “Who do you belong to, baby boy?” _ Chara says into Charlie’s gasping mouth. _ “Are you mine?” _

“Oh yes, yours, always yours!” Charlie moans, meaning every word. For a moment, he imagines Chara above him like this in his gear, concerned eyes through his visor and the C prominent on his chest. “Daddy, daddy, please, let me come!”

_ “You played well tonight,” _ Chara praises him, _ “you can come. Come for me, baby boy.” _

Charlie’s eyes roll back as he starts to come hard. His body jackknifes, nearly throwing him off the bed, but he wildly thinks that with Chara heavy above him he can’t go anywhere, and that’s the last thought he has before his mind is gone.

Charlie comes to, blinking slowly. His skin is prickling with cool sweat, his muscles ache from the position. The plug has slipped out of him and he tosses it somewhere down the bed, opening his cramping hand and stretching it out. He laughs, high on endorphins, his whole body singing.

He wipes his hands on the towel beneath him and reaches for more tissues to clean up his stomach. There’s lube everywhere, tacky and gross now that the sex appeal is gone, but Charlie’s flying too high to even care. He chugs the bottle of water and grabs his laptop, settling into a more comfortable position as he restarts the highlight video. It’s great to watch clips of his team succeeding in the afterglow, and if it happens to rev him up for a third round, Charlie’s not gonna say no.

And then he sees a blinking in the corner of the screen. Facebook is open in another tab, and he somehow has 45 messages.

Facebook being Facebook, only Jake’s chat box is visible.

_ ‘...fuck is wrong with you’ _

_ ‘chuck i am not fucking kidding’ _

_ ‘!!!!’ _

_ ‘answer your goddamn phone!!’ _

  
A surge of adrenaline hits Charlie’s veins. Is there an emergency? Is someone hurt? Where the hell is his phone?

He springs up from the bed and checks his nightstand, the dresser, his pants pockets, but it’s nowhere to be found. All he can see is the evidence of his evening, getting off to a fantasy about a teammate while out in the real world, something awful has happened.

Suddenly cold, Charlie tugs his pants back on before running out to the entryway. His phone is in his jacket where he abandoned it on the way in. He has dozens of missed calls, text messages, and WhatsApp notifications from various teammates. Some of the guys have even Snapped him.

Someone must be dead, he thinks. His hands start to shake.

He scrolls through the messages in dismay and confusion.  
  


_ ‘we can hear you, dumbass’ _

_  
‘Wow, pretty thirsty for the captain, eh?’ _

_  
‘i didn’t need to know you have a daddy kink mcavoy’ _

_  
‘Yeah you really do need to get a dildo, don’t be a rookie at pullling your own horn, fuck’s sake’ _

_  
‘That’s kinda fucked up man’ _

_  
‘baby boy, thats what gets you goin huh chuckie’ _

_  
‘Charlie, your psionic blocks aren’t working. We’re getting everything.’  
  
_

Charlie’s heart drops down through the floor.

This is the stuff of any player’s nightmares. Guys have been traded over this kind of thing, secrets or fantasies revealed through the psychic bond that poisoned the locker room. He won’t be able to face his teammates after this—oh, God, especially not Chara. They'll kick him back to Providence at the very least.

Charlie slumps against the wall, a cold sweat prickling his skin as the weight of his mistake starts to sink in.

And then, there’s a knock on the door.

The incoming psionic block is still working here, less than twenty feet from Charlie’s bedroom. He can’t tell who’s on the other side of the door, but he knows that it's a teammate who drove over here to save him from himself, and from the rest of the team.

Shame is already turning his cheeks bright red, and he’s still shirtless, but whoever this is has already seen much worse, and they deserve to deliver their message and run away as fast as humanly possible. Charlie opens the door, feeling like the lowest of the low.

He looks up, and up, and then chokes on air, because Chara’s concerned green-grey gaze is looking down at him, for real, for the second time that night.

“I— I…”

Charlie stumbles back a step, his mind whiting out with apologies and excuses and the utter humiliation of it all. He can’t get a single word out.

Chara steps inside and closes the door behind him. Even through the psionic blocker, Charlie feels the weight of Chara’s mental presence as it forces through the artificial barrier and envelopes Charlie’s mind, finally shielding his outgoing thoughts.

“Are you all right?” Chara asks seriously.

Charlie has an awful flashback to his fantasy Chara running fingers through his hair and asking if Charlie was hurt, and he cringes in embarrassment.

“I’m. I.”

He comes to a full stop, shaking in his own entryway, eyes burning. He can’t move a muscle.

Chara steps forward, slowly, all the way over to Charlie in just two long steps. He wraps his arms around Charlie.

“It’s okay,” he says. “You’re okay.”

If only Charlie could take it the way it’s meant: concern from an older player for a younger one who fucked up so enormously in front of the entire team. But his traitorous mind reads the words differently, his young and stupid body reacts with a flush of heat, and he knows Chara feels it, with his mind wrapped around Charlie’s, and when he pulls back to look down at Charlie’s face, they both know exactly what Charlie’s thinking.

“I don’t mind,” Chara says, interrupting Charlie’s freakout. He smiles, softening the lines of his face, and his mental presence tightens around Charlie’s. “I like taking care of you.”

There’s a clatter as Charlie drops his cellphone.

Chara raises one big hand and cards it through Charlie’s hair. It tightens around a handful and carefully pulls his head back. Charlie’s jaw falls open from the angle, his ragged breathing loud in the entryway.

“Do you want me, baby boy?” Chara says into his ear.

Charlie’s eyes slip closed as he lets Chara hold him up.

“Yes, daddy.”


End file.
